


Troubles With Time Travel

by VickeyStar



Category: Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Time Travel, post-flashpoint, quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:33:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickeyStar/pseuds/VickeyStar
Summary: “Kid, you need to remember that I know everything.” That had actually been a tenant of his childhood: his mother knew everything. It was always a toss-up about whether she would care or not, but she always knew.





	Troubles With Time Travel

**Author's Note:**

> Uploading this during a power outage, using a generator.  
> We're sweating our asses off, but we got this hashed out and are working on another quote.  
> Our power is supposed to come back on sometime today or tomorrow, so wish us luck!  
> Enjoy!  
> ~SleevesCakes/VickeyStar

_“Kid, you need to remember that I know everything.” That had actually been a tenant of his childhood: his mother knew everything. It was always a toss-up about whether she would care or not, but she always knew._

~*~

So, apparently time travel was a thing.

It all started when Barry came speeding into the Batcave, rambling about another speedster, Arthur and Diana being at war, and Clark being held captive by the government.

After Barry had explained what the _hell_ he was talking about, he paused.

“And, um.” Bruce watches as Barry shuffles on his feet, still smoking from running too fast. The Batman quirks an eyebrow at the Flash, and the young hero shoves a letter into Bruce’s hands.

“That. That, um. You should read that.” Barry scratches the back of his head, before flashing away.

Bruce stares at the letter, immediately recognizing the handwriting.

The first signature he learned to forge, for school trips and detention slips.

His father’s.

~*~

He doesn’t know how it happens, but somehow, after that one event, it’s like every villain the Justice League fights has some kind of time traveling device, or ability.

~*~

He doesn’t even notice it when it happens, there’s no vortex of lights, like Barry described. He’s just standing in the street, and suddenly the villain is gone.

He scouts the area around him, sticking to the shadows more out of habit than any need to be stealthy.

Diana and Clark’s insistence to step out of the darkness and into the light of the media has brought them all more attention, tourists going to Antarctica on the off chance that Arthur might be there, people in Central City photoshopping the Flash into their selfies.

The third time he visited Barry, the kid took him to a coffee shop, CC Jitters, where Barry proceeded to down twelve _Flashes_ like shots.

Just last night, Barry texted him a picture of a coffee cup, the bat emblem made in froth.

 _We’re thinking… The Bat?_ Barry had texted, a winking emoji following.

He sent back a thumbs up emoji, and could practically hear Barry’s gasp of excitement that he replied.

He spends five more hours looking for the villain, before going back to the Batcave.

Bruce stares in surprise when he arrives, seeing the cave walls and old design.

His gloved fingers brush across one of the old, dusty keyboards, and he hears the cocking of a gun.

“Who are you?”  
He can’t breathe.

Bruce slowly turns around, staring in shock as Thomas Wayne stands in front of him, pointing a gun at his head.

“Believe it or not,” Bruce speaks, moving slowly to lift his cowl off of his face, “I’m your son.”

Thomas’s face freezes, obviously recognizing the genetic similarities between the strange man and himself.

He thinks of his ten-year-old, sleeping in his bed and completely oblivious as to what happens in the basement.

Bruce watches as Thomas keeps the gun trained on him, holding out a swab.

Bruce takes it, keeping his movement slow and steady, swabbing the inside of his mouth and handing it back by the clean end.

Thomas backs away, turning one of the computers on and entering the DNA into what looks like an older version of Bruce’s own chemical identification device.

There’s the sound of whirring for a few minutes, as both men stay frozen, not moving an inch.

Bruce hears a small _ping!_ and watches as Thomas compares his DNA to his son’s, to find them a perfect match.

Thomas sees the evidence and puts the gun down with a sigh.

“So, you’re from the future.” Bruce’s father says, looking at his grown son with a small smirk.

Bruce shrugs. “It appears so.”

“How do we get you back?” Thomas asks, sitting in an old chair.

Bruce sighs, looking around. “I have a… friend, who can come and get me. I just have to leave a message that’ll get there.”

“Sure, I can leave a note on the server, if it’s the same—” Bruce cuts Thomas off, a sheepish look on his face.

“That won’t work. It’ll have to be upstairs, and then I just wait.”

Thomas sends Bruce a questioning look, and the younger Wayne shrugs.

His father sighs, shutting the computer down.  
“If my wife asks, you’re a buddy from work.”

Bruce nods, a little twinge of excitement going through his body at the thought of seeing his mother.

Thomas studies his son’s outfit, frowning. “Tell me you’re not planning to go upstairs in _that_.”

Bruce realizes that he’s still wearing his Batman suit, and rubs the back of his head in a motion not dissimilar to Barry, when he’s nervous.

Thomas chuckles, moving toward the wall and pressing the button to an intercom.

“Alfred, do me a favor and bring down some clothing, would’ya?”

A few seconds later, a young British accent replies.

_“On my way, Master Wayne.”_

Bruce gives a small smile at hearing the familiar voice, and a few minutes later, seeing the man.

Younger, of course, but still.

It’s always good to see a familiar face.

He smiles as Alfred hands him a pressed suit, one of his father’s.

“I had assumed you meant for yourself, apologies.” Alfred spoke, eyeing Bruce with barely hidden curiosity.

Bruce changes into the suit away from the two, while Thomas assures Alfred that he did fine. He sets his Batsuit down to the side, tucked away in a corner that would hold a picture of his parents, in the future.

Alfred turns to face Bruce as he emerges from behind a wall, having changed. Thomas looks at Bruce, inspecting his appearance as he had done so many times when Bruce was a child, before turning to Alfred and nodding his approval.

“We should head back upstairs, don’t you think, Alfred?” Thomas turns to Bruce. “You’re just in time for dinner.”  
~*~

Barry steps into the Batcave, lightning fading around him as he wanders around.

“Bruce?” He calls, before letting the lightning envelop him as he runs around the cave. He finds Alfred, making a snack in the kitchen of the Manor.

“Hey, Alfred.” Barry greets the man with a smile as Alfred wordlessly pulls a plate of some fancy food out of seemingly nowhere, planting it in front of Barry as the younger man sits at the island counter.

“Hello, Mr. Allen.” Alfred smiles as the young man digs in.

“So, what is this? It tastes _amazing_!” Barry exclaims, and Alfred smirks.

“Do you want to know, or do you want more?” the Butler asks, pulling another plate of the dish from thin air.

Barry finishes stuffing his face with the first dish, reaching out and taking the second with a thanks.

Alfred watches as Barry makes a conscious effort to not shove all of the food into his mouth, taking smaller bites and savoring the flavor.

This had become their routine every time Barry came to visit for any reason other than an attack on one of their cities.

Barry gave up trying to figure out how exactly Alfred always knew to have a dish prepared, as he made a habit of just popping in at random times to work on a project, or just to hang out.

Sometimes to nap on the couch near the entrance to the Batcave, but that was after even Bruce had gone to bed.

(And yet Barry would always wake up in a guest bedroom, fully rested and with a buffet waiting for him downstairs.)

“Where’s Bruce?” Barry asks between bites, looking around. “He’s usually sulking in the lab or stalking me around the Manor. I haven’t seen him.”  
“Well,” Alfred glances around, “perhaps Master B has finally managed to be stealthy around you.” The Butler glances around, slightly concerned himself.

Barry squints at him, letting the Speed Force envelop him so he could frantically look around, wondering if Bruce had indeed managed to sneak up on him.

(At one training session, Bruce tried to sneak up on Barry.

He couldn’t.

Well, to be fair, Barry can slow down time. Ish. Point is, if you’re a regular person, he’ll see you coming.

Usually.

Maybe.

Depends on his coffee intake.

Bruce hasn’t stopped trying since.)

Alfred’s lips twitch as he notices a small flash of lightning just to the right of Barry’s shoulder.

“He isn’t here.” Barry sighs in relief, studying Alfred as the Butler glances around again.

Alfred finally pulls a small flip phone out of his pocket and dials Bruce’s number.

And the burner phone.

And the backup burner phone.

And the backup-for-the-backup burner phone.

He looks vaguely concerned when he dials the twelfth burner phone, out of worry for Bruce or the amount of burner phones, Barry doesn’t know.

“No answer?” He asks when Alfred hangs up.

Barry pulls his own phone, decidedly _not_ a practically obsolete flip phone, out and calls Clark.

 _“Hey, Barry, what’s up?”_ Clark answers, and Barry smiles.

“Alfred and I were wondering if you’ve seen Bruce, we’re getting pretty worried.”

_“No, I haven’t. I can check with Diana and Arthur, meet you at the Manor if they haven’t heard anything. I’m betting Victor is listening in, so if you do hear anything, either of you, meet at the Manor.”_

A second later, Victor’s voice is heard.

_“I haven’t picked him up on any of my scanners, but I can do a deeper search once I get to the Manor. See you guys there.”_

Barry hangs up, nodding to Alfred. “The others will check in, they’re on their way.”  
The Butler nods back, making another snack for the Flash.

~*~

Bruce watches as Martha Wayne puts a casserole on the table in front of him, expertly cutting slices and serving her husband.

She sits across from Bruce, holding the knife out for him to cut his own piece, however big he wants.

Bruce smiles in thanks, slicing a moderately sized piece of the casserole, before handing the knife to Alfred, sitting next to him.

“So,” Martha starts, “I don’t believe I caught your name.”  
Thomas sends him a panicked look. “Honey, I thought I mentioned, this is a new coworker, starting as my assistant on Monday.”  
She nods toward him, jokingly patronizing. “Yes, sweetie, but that still isn’t a name.”  
She turns to Bruce, smiling encouragingly.

“Hi,” Bruce speaks, “I’m… Barry Prince. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wayne.”  
He’s wearing his smile, polite but not too polished, just enough to seem almost genuine. It’s his go-to smile in most situations, excluding whenever one of the League is around.

She smiles back, the exact same smile, and turns to Thomas.

“Sweetie.” Her voice is sickly sweet, and the hair on the back of Bruce’s neck rises.

He watches as Thomas gulps, recognizing the danger in the room.

“Yes, love?”

“What was our rule about lying to one another?”

Thomas dutifully relays the rule.

“If one of us is caught lying to the other, the other gets to choose a punishment as they see fit, as well as hear the truth.”

She hums, turning to Bruce.

They stare at each other for a minute, before she speaks.

“Hello, Bruce.”

The youngest Wayne (technically, he’s older than both of them, by a year) sighs, dropping the façade.

“How’d you know?”  
She quirks an eyebrow.

“Kid, you need to remember that I know everything.” That had actually been a tenant of his childhood: his mother knew everything. It was always a toss-up about whether she would care or not, but she always knew.

Thomas smiles, throwing his hands up as he finishes his casserole. “Finally! Ah, that secret was killing me! Honeybun, I swear I never wanted to lie to you, Alfred made me do it!”  
The three turn to the Butler, who glances up halfway through pulling his fork out of his mouth.

“Hmm?” Alfred asks, wondering why they’re staring at him.

Martha smiles. “Thomas is doing the dishes for the next month.”  
Alfred removes the fork from his mouth, thinks about it, and nods obediently.

“Understood, Ma’am.”

Thomas lets out a squawk of indignation, saying something about Alfred being a wet blanket when the room fills with lightning.

~*~

It doesn’t take them long to figure out what had happened to Bruce, snooping around the Batcave.

Barry is looking on the desk when he peeks in a corner and notices that the picture had changed.

Instead of a newspaper clipping of Thomas and Martha Waynes’ murder, there’s a group photo of Bruce, fully grown, standing next to what looks like a young Alfred, his parents, and surprisingly, Barry, himself.

“Hey, Alfred, do you remember this?” he asks, speeding to the Butler’s side with the photo.

Alfred does, and tells Barry the date.

He sends his friends a cocky salute as he goes to get Bruce back.

~*~

“Hey, Bruce.”  
Bruce looks up to see Barry, fully suited up in his Flash costume, standing awkwardly at the other end of the table.

His mouth quirks into a small smile, for a second.

(Barry sees it.)

“Hey, Barry.” He replies, in the same casual tone of voice. “What’s up?”

“Um.”

There’s a beat of silence as Bruce puts his butter knife down, Thomas holsters his gun, and Alfred puts his hunting knife back into his boot.

Martha stares at the men, glaring at Thomas, before sighing.

“Hello, dear. I’m Martha, these are Thomas and Alfred. Would you like to join us for some casserole?”  
She didn’t wait for his answer, already setting up a fifth plate with heaping helpings of casserole.

Barry sits in the chair next to her, ironically his usual chair, looking to Bruce for instructions on what to do.

Bruce nods encouragingly, and Barry obligingly takes a small bite of the casserole.

Bruce smiles as the younger man’s eyes widen and he starts eating like a starved man, although Bruce knows that he probably ate a few hours ago, if Alfred had any say in it.

Which, it’s Alfred.

So he did.

The four watch as Barry finishes his casserole in seconds, lightning flickering on and off his body.

(Martha soothes small embers from her wool top as some sparks land on her.)

When he finishes, it feels natural for Barry to reach out and take seconds, as he has many times before, but he freezes halfway through refilling his plate.

Wide, panicked eyes meet Bruce’s calm ones as he starts apologizing for not having manners, and Bruce is suddenly reminded as Martha dabs a napkin on the young man’s shocked face that as polite and well-mannered as Barry is, he’s never actually been _mothered_ , before.

At least, not that he could remember.

Bruce watches as Barry eats his fill, making polite conversation with Thomas and Martha.

“So,” Thomas speaks, folding his hands in front of him. “How old was my son when he had you?”  
Barry splutters, Bruce echoing. “What?”  
Martha slaps her husband’s arm. “It’s alright, you don’t have to tell us. Spoilers, and all that.”  
Bruce clears his throat. “Barry isn’t my son.”

Thomas and Martha look at him, Thomas with naked surprise on his face, Martha with a simple lifted brow.

Barry blushes, changing the topic. “Anyways, this was great, dinner was great, this was all just… great. We should really get going, though, the others are pretty worried.”  
They can all tell Thomas is about to ask, ‘What others?’ as Martha immediately slaps his arm to keep him quiet.

“Thank you for your company, boys.” She says, graciously standing.

“One more thing.” Barry speaks, looking around. “Aha!”

He speeds a few feet away, grabbing a camera.  
“We need to take a picture. It’s how I found you.”  
~*~

Barry takes his hand off of the back of Bruce’s neck, looking around the Batcave.

Without Barry’s supporting arms, Bruce stumbles as vertigo slams into him.

He almost falls over when someone reaches out to catch his arm.

Clark smiles when he meets the Kryptonian’s eyes.

“You okay?” Arthur grunts, whiskey in hand. The Atlantian holds the bottle out, but Bruce turns it down.

“Yeah,” Bruce looks at his team. “I’m fine.”

Diana smiles and goes to pull Victor away from the computers for a bit as Barry tries to convince Arthur to let him have a sip.

(The glare Bruce sent over Barry’s shoulder stopped that from happening, ever.

The fifty billion dollars donated to a small fishing city in Antarctica probably helped.)

Clark leads Bruce over to a rolling chair, sitting him down as Alfred hands him a glass of water.

Bruce looks at his team and smiles.

edn


End file.
